


Christmas Market

by WilwyWaylan



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Very fluffy, because it's the best winter atmosphere, just some seasonal fluff, with a dash of Alsace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 12:18:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilwyWaylan/pseuds/WilwyWaylan
Summary: Combeferre just wants to relax. Jehan just wants to visit the Christmas Market. And drag Combeferre with him. Fluff ensues





	Christmas Market

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pansythoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansythoughts/gifts).



> In Alsace where I'm from, Christmas Markets are Very Important Seasonal Things. They consist in small stalls shaped as wooden houses, where people sell all kinds of handmade trinkets and Christmas-y food. It always has a very festive atmosphere.
> 
> "Bredele" are special Christmas cookies from Alsace. Lots of them exist, but the best are the butter ones !
> 
> I hope you'll like it !!

It was past five in the evening when Combeferre was finally allowed to sit. All afternoon, he had been busy, first reviewing their pamphlets with Enjolras once again before sending them to print, then helping Courfeyrac getting ready for his next week audition. Finally, his two roommates were out the door, with promises of a study session for one (read : awkward coffee date with Grantaire) and a movie afternoon with two paramours for the other.

He settled on his favourite armchair, sinking in the cushions, with a cup of sweet-smelling coffee, put his feet up on the assorted stool, and grabbed his book. He had enough time to read exactly one line and a half, before the doorbell rang. Once, twice. He cursed that awful chime and the one who dared using it to spoil his well-deserved me-time. Couldn't a man grab a few minutes of quiet with a book and no one around to talk about green eyes or the freedom of people ? Maybe he could just sit there and wait. The person wouldn't insist, of course. They would probably respect his privacy, or think that there wasn't anyone at home, and leave him to his book.

But sadly, Mrs Combeferre hadn't raised rude children. With a sigh, he carefully marked his place in the book (not that he really needed a bookmark to remember he was on page 3), got up with a groan, and shuffled to the front door, ready to send the offender to hell. Just as he reached it, the bell rang again, startling him. He opened the door with maybe more force than intended, making the other person jump. Combeferre immediatly felt guilty when recognizing the flowery jacket and medley of scarves that formed Jehan's winter outfit. They frowned a little, and he smiled to put them at ease, trying to ignore the small jumps of his heart.

\- Sorry, Jehan, he started, I...

 _I what ? I was upset at being interrupted, but now I'm less upset because I see it's you and I don't feel that upset anymore even if my book is fascinating ? I love your hat ? I think I may suffer from heart palpitations right now but it might be because you smiled at me ? I may, maybe, just maybe, have a small crush on you that I desperatly try to hide because I'm not sure you like me that way ?_ All those ran through Combeferre's mind in a split second, before he pushed them down to forget them.

\- I didn't expect a visitor, he said simply.

Jehan nodded like it was a perfect explanation of why someone would open a door that harshly.

\- I didn't mean to bother you.

\- You don't. Do you want to come in ?

He kinda hoped that Jehan would refuse, and let him go back to his book. But at the same time, he really wanted them to accept. The poet's company was one he appreciated a lot, even during those down moments when he needed to unwind, preferably alone with a good book. Jehan's presence was... quieting. Not that they weren't capable of mischief and general noise, but they knew when to stay quiet and leave some space. In those moments, they sat with him with their own book, or wrote, or played on their smartphone, only talking softly from time to time and providing some company. And tea. Jehan made the best tea ever. That sounded like a nice way to spend this afternoon. But the poet was having none of that.

\- In fact, I thought you might come with me ?

Combeferre tried not to frown or give him a very resounding "no". He could almost feel his book behind him, calling to him. But that was Jehan. Jehan looking at him with those impossibly wide eyes and that nice, gentle smile that gave him goosebumps. Jehan who he didn't want to disappoint.

\- Come with you where ?

\- The Christmas Market. Or as Enjolras would call it "a capitalist celebration of End of the year's consumerism".

\- Enjolras didn't say that.

\- I know, but he could.

Combeferre had to admit, that sounded a bit like Enjolras. Jehan beamed when they saw him smile.

\- So ? Do you want to go ?

Did he ? Christmas markets meant the crowd rushing to get their Christmas shopping done, and everything he didn't want right now : people, loud christmas music, screams, noise, and people. That weighted heavily in the "no" category. But on the other hand, it meant sugary treats, and that end-of-the-year-celebrations atmosphere he loved. It meant watching the beautiful light displays and elaborate decorations. It meant spending time with Jehan and watching them skip from booth to booth, admiring the products, chatting with everyone, being happy...

\- Sure, I'm coming. Give me a minute.

Before he could change his mind, he slipped his shoes on, grabbed his scarf and coat by the door, hoisted his bag on his shoulder, and out the door he went, following Jehan who was already skipping down the stairs.

~*~

Combeferre breathed in, enjoying the mixed smells of fir tree, hot cocoa and various sweets. Nothing smelled more like holidays and celebration than a christmas market. He had to admit, that one was very beautiful. Dozens of small wooden house-shaped stalls were lined in two concentric circles around the biggest square in town. Each was stringed with white fairy lights, and the white fluffy material on their rooves did a very nice job of giving the impression of snow. Combererre didn't care that much for perfume burners shaped as little half-timbered houses or the cathedral, hand-sewn accessories or wooden toys. Some shiny things had captured his attention, but not for more than a minute. If it wasn't for the walk, it would have been a loss of time.

And for Jehan, of course. Jehan who was going from stall to stall, admiring everything, from the smallest trinket to the large hand-carved furniture. You could always count on the poet to find beauty in even the gaudiest things. Right now, they were chatting with a woman selling the sparkliest, glitteriest christmas candles Combeferre had ever seen, nodding along, their hairpins sending small shards of light in his direction.

They turned towards him, seeking his approbation, and he hurridly nodded. Happy with his reaction, Jehan waved the lady goodbye, grabbed Combeferre's hand, and dragged him along the aisle. He followed, watching the long scarves waving before him, through the white cloud of his breath. There was someting strangely magical at being led like this through the crowd. It felt like following a fairy being. Maybe it was the festive atmosphere with all those shiny lights. Or maybe that was something just Jehan, with their enthusiasm and the spring in their steps. The way their braid bounced and danced, and their laugh at everything and anything. And their hand, perfectly nested in his, like it was made to rest here.

Jehan stopped in front of another stall, admiring the merchandises. The stones laid on velvet were very pretty, as were the jewelry dangling from elaborate displays. The poet started admiring them, picking them and moving them slowly under the light to elect pretty shimmers at their surface, praising their quality and beauty. Combeferre listened, of course, but he couldn't take his eyes off Jehan. The spotlights cast an shining outline along their profile, dancing on their forehead and the tip of their nose, turning the small locks of hair escaping from the hat into threads of gold. The freckles on their skin looked darker, drawing constellations that Combeferre would have loved to study with as much attention as the one in the sky. Their eye, the one he could see, was as beautiful as the gemstones they were admiring, and as green as the fir branches above their head.

They turned to face him, a glint of light catching their right eye and turning it into a burning amber, and Combeferre's heart missed a bit.

\- Are you alright ? Jehan asked. You look cold.

Cold ? Maybe. His nose was freezing, and his ears weren't faring better. But beside that, he felt warm. His cheeks were heating, and the hand Jehan hadn't let go of felt like it was on fire. Or at least against a heater. Maybe the poet was using some kind of personnal magic to give him his own warmth by their linked hands ? He shook his head to dissipate those thoughts. Jehan took the gesture for a no.

\- Sure ? Because I know a place where we can get some cookies, and they are delicious. And the best hot chocolate in this market, of course, they added after a second.

\- Well, if you're trying to bribe me with hot chocolate, I'd say you're doing an amazing job of it.

Jehan smiled, and led him to the end of the alley. They turned left, and they walked to the huge christmas tree set at the center of the place. There was a tiny shack at its feet, barely more than a box. And it smelled heavenly. Jehan nudged him on a small bench, then went to the counter, talking in hushed tones with the owner, and walked back with two cups full of chocolate and a plate of small, star-shaped cookies.

\- Here, they beamed, I got us buttery _bredele_ , they are the best !

Combeferre couldn't remember the last time he ate some. He bit into a cookie, enjoying the buttery and sugary taste filling his mouth. They were perfect, not too hard, and with a nice, golden shell. He swallowed the rest at once, making Jehan giggle.

\- So ?

\- They are delicious, Combeferre answered, trying not to spit some crumbs.

He took a sip of chocolate. It was just as he liked it, thick and slightly bitter, and he had to hold himself back from drinking it in one go. He held the cup in his hands, enjoying the warmth seeping through his gloves. There was something magical in the air. Maybe it was the market itself. Or maybe the soft glow of the red and yellow lights stringed through the branchs above them. Or even above, the stars winking at them through the long, white scarves of the clouds, painted white by the moon.

And Jehan sitting with him, huddled against his side to keep warm. Their nose was pink with the cold and the steam from their cup, and there were crumbs on their scarf. They were so beautiful like this, Combeferre wanted nothing more than bend over and kiss them. But that would have broken the spell. And so, he stayed like that, sitting beside Jehan, enjoying the smell of chocolate meeting that of their hair.

After what seemed to have been hours but was probably only a handful of minutes, Jehan got up, pulled Combeferre up, and they started to make their way back. IT was colder now, and they didn't stop to admire all the things still laid out on the displays. They stopped at the end of the aisle, Jehan patting their pockets to find a spare bus ticket. Combeferre looked up at the stars above them. And noticed that, on purpose or not, they just have stopped under a bundle of mistletoe. What should he do ? Take advantage of the situation ? Grab Jehan and kiss him ? But what if the poet didn't feel the same ? What if they saw him only as a friend, and he ended up hurting them greatly by taking a step they weren't ready to take ? Combeferre, really, really didn't want to hurt them, in any way. He had to squash that want, even as it weighted on his stomach and made his hands itch to just grab them and never let them go.

Jehan finally dug a ticket from the bottom of their bag and brandished it with a victory cry. They followed Combeferre's gaze, to the mistletoe hanging above them. Combeferre immediatly lowered his eyes, trying to look unaffected and absolutly not like a blushing dork. Which was probably a failure. He could feel his ears burning, and his cheeks were joining on the fun. He was probably as red as Enjolras' sweater. Anytime now, Jehan was going to understand, and they would probably be either very confused, or very disgusterd at being led on like that.

A hand touched his face, light as a feather, and turned his head gently. Jehan was looking at him, their eyes serious, almost solemn. They took a step towards him, and when he didn't move, they stood on tiptoes. Very slowly, they kissed him. It was delicate, almost more like a dream than a real kiss. Combeferre took a second to register what was happening. Jehan was kissing them. Jehan, sweet Jehan who he was in love with even if he denied it, was kissing him. And it was very much real. Combeferre had a good imagination, but never could he have dreamed the copper curls tickling his nose, and the taste of chocolate still on Jehan's lips. That was real. He grabbed Jehan by the waist, and pulled them against him. The poet looped their arms around his neck without breaking the kiss. Combeferre felt the Earth spin around him, the ground move under his feet, the wind rushing, the stars dancing under his eyelids, he felt everything Courfeyrac had told him about and then more. But above everything else, he felt the softness of Jehan's lips on his, the sweet fragrence of their hair, the press of their hands on his neck, and their heart beating against his.

They finally parted, just enough that Jehan could watch him in the eye. Their arms didn't move from Combeferre's neck, and Combeferre's stated tightly wound around their waist. They felt solid under his touch, so much more than what their frail frame could show, they felt warm, they felt real. Their eyes were bright like the stars above them, the pupils so large and black Combeferre feared for a second that he could fall in them and drown. But Jehan would not let him drown, they would ground him, catch him should he fall, or join him in his fall, and he would never be alone...

Jehan said something he didn't get, and he had to shake his head to go back to reality.

\- What ? he said, very eloquently.

\- I said, that was very nice.

Jehan untangled themselves from him, and Combeferre couldn't help the disappointment rising in him to read on his face. Jehan just laughed a little.

\- I'm not leaving, they reassured him. In fact, I liked this very much, and I'd love to do it more. But I'm freezing, and I'm sure you're the same.

Combeferre just noticed he couldn't really feel his toes and fingers anymore. Only his heart was warm, and the lips Jehan just kissed.

\- How about we find a place to warm up ? he offered. And maybe we could start again ?

\- My dear Camille, I would love that very much.

Jehan slid their arm under Combeferre's, and they started their way back home, huddled together under the bright lights and the starry sky.


End file.
